


The Gifts of the Magi (or what TLG gave Mulder and Scully for their birthdays)

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 05:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16299104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: What do the Gunmen give Mulder and Scully for their birthdays?





	The Gifts of the Magi (or what TLG gave Mulder and Scully for their birthdays)

Frohike is in the corner wearing what looks like a tea-cosy on his head. There’s a rhythmical clicking that sounds like manic Morse code. His hands are a blur as the ball of silver wool unspools from its nest on his lap. She side-eyes Byers who doesn’t seem in the least perturbed. Mind you, he’s currently standing at a small hob and frying eggs wearing an apron that reads ‘The Truth is Under There’ above an arrow pointing to his…

“Scully,” Mulder says, tugging her arm. “There’s a package for you too.”

Langly is wearing a tee emblazoned with a photograph of Vivienne Westwood wearing plaid. He hands her a parcel wrapped in brown paper and sporting a crimson bow. “But it’s not my birthday.”

Mulder grins. “It’s not mine for a few more days, but these guys aren’t exactly conventional.”

Outside, the air is crisp enough for her to think of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas to come. Mulder is hugging his gift to his chest. A buzz wells in her chest that makes her want to invite him to her family’s celebrations. He opens the car door for her and she slides in, turning her own present this way and that, still puzzled.

“Does it rattle?” he asks, grinning.

She shakes it. Nothing. “Does yours?”

“Nope. Doesn’t smell, doesn’t scrunch, doesn’t feel solid. I have no idea what it is and Scully,” he says, turning over the ignition, “I was hoping that you might like to come back to my apartment to help me open my gift. I have mulled wine. And sweet potato pie.”

A rash of stars twinkle overhead and she smiles back at him.

The wine is sweetly spiced and warms her face enough for her to know her cheeks are pink. He insists she unwraps hers first so she pulls at the ribbon and the bow unravels. His eyes burn on her as hot as the wine as she unpeels the sticky tape and unfolds the corners. Inside is a wad of tissue paper that she opens.

“What is it?” he sings, just like that first autopsy on the chimpanzee and she chuckles.

Inside, there is a perfectly crocheted pair of mittens with little Pomeranians on the front. Her throat constricts and she touches away the fizz at the tip of her nose. “Oh, Queequeg,”she says.

Mulder’s lips quirk downwards for a second and he sips his wine. “I’m sorry about your dog, Scully.”

“No you’re not,” she says, finding a smile. “You’re not a dog person, Fox.”

He laughs then barks and howls and rips open his present. “Happy birthday to me,” he yells, holding up his knitted creation.

She stares at it. It’s long shaft in a dark grey and a round ball at the end in a silver wool. On the shaft there is an alien figure with an egg-shaped head and wide green eyes. He turns it over and over in his hand and his blush is about as burgundy as the wine.

“Is that what I think it is?” she ventures.

“Why would Frohike do this to me?” He grabs his cell and punches in the number. “Byers, get me Frohike.”

She takes his woollen gift and slips a finger up the shaft, wearing a like a finger puppet. He does concede her a smile as she plays the alien with the dogs on her mittens.

“What do you mean he’s too busy knitting? He’s just gifted me a willy-warmer and I’d like to know on what fucking planet that’s an okay present to give a friend in the company of his…partner.” His eyes flick from her face to the table and back to his gift. He listens, cringes, then ends the call.

“It’s just a joke, Mulder. I’m not offended. I think it’s quite funny.” She shifts closer to him, their thighs touching. She puts a hand on his knee. “And if I’d drunk more of your mulled wine I might have asked you to model it for me.”

His jaw flexes and he coughs a little. He swigs the last of his wine and stands up. “Your wish is my command.”

“Oh, Mulder…” she calls but he’s already shut his bedroom door. She sits up and brushes her skirt down, sweat prickling at her nape. She pours more wine and skulls it, waiting for the rush of alcohol to embolden her. This is Mulder. She’s seen him naked before. He’s…well…he’s a damned good looking man.

The door creaks open and he strolls out, still clothed. She sighs and he laughs.

“Are you that disappointed, Scully? Or is it relief?”

She doesn’t respond, just looks at his gun ensconced in its alien and spaceship cover. He’s still laughing as he holds it up, facing it left then right like it’s having a mug shot taken. “Pretty cool, huh? Frohike knitted me a gun cosy.” He slips the weapon in his pocket.

She feels the giddiness of the wine running through her veins. “Is that a gun in your pocket, Fox, or are you just pleased to see me?”


End file.
